I find myself wondering these days why I'm so scared. I don't usually scare easy. When I was studying the occult in my thirties, (more of this another time) I've met my share of nasty things, which do not mean you well. When I rushed headlong into the dusty, screaming innards of the crumbling Babri Masjid I felt excitement, not fear. But this damn Coronavirus is another story. Am I afraid it will happen to me? It already did, and it wasn't bad at all. I spent a few days in a nice hospital room where everyone was good to me. The food was decent and the TV worked. The wifi was fast and I could watch Netflix on my iPad. Then I went home, read a lot, gossiped with friends on the phone, watched more TV and ate well. Slept well. Then in a couple of weeks, I togged up and partied with friends. That was my Covid-19 experience.
I've got both my jabs. I wear a mask and keep a distance, like I would do during normal times. So what the hell am I frightened of? It is the visual impact of the virus that scares me. I'm not afraid to die. In fact I'm quite curious to know what is on the other side. Do they have good whisky, rare cheese, voulez vous and kebabs? Do I get to meet people I liked? Are there hot women in the Otherworld? Does it hurt when you die? I had a near death experience once, in March 2016. It was far from painful. Anyway, once I'm dead it doesn't matter. But it is lying in crowded hospital wards, gasping for oxygen, watching the pity and fear in the eyes of nurses and attendants, the desperate courage of the doctors that alarm me.
I don't want to be there. I don't want to be cremated in a zipped up plastic bag on the roadside. Politicians will probably charge GST when you buy the farm. Governments don't care whether you died with your boots on—they'll probably pull them off your dead feet and sell it on e-bay. Netas are either playing politics or playing the fool, doing crazy stuff like asking schools to thank Modi for something he didn't do. The vaccines aren't free. Our taxes have already paid for them. The government is also arresting people for seeking help.
I know what I am afraid of. I'm afraid of feeling afraid. Right now, the mountains are blue, wooly with trees and a rainbow makes a guest appearance once in a while after it has finished raining. The cypresses dapple the winding road with lacy shade and the footfalls of strangers are as soft as the coffee cake at The Bakehouse. In the ancient cemetery of Landour, foreigners lie asleep for centuries. I don't envy them, nor do I want to have them over for a drink. It is best to leave ghosts alone.
But what if they don't leave you alone, crowding your nights with TV grabs and Whatsapp forwards?
I've figured that the best way to live through these crazy days is to be comfortable with my fear. That way I don't need courage if the time comes. Like an old, familiar friend, my fear will whisper to me, "Aw c'mon, its just lil' ole me."